Contentment
by darkcyan
Summary: Natori has plans for Valentine's Day. Life happens instead. He finds he doesn't really mind.


Someday I will learn to have spontaneous ideas for Valentine's Day fics early enough to actually complete them in time. Someday.

Contains light spoilers through volume 15 or so, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to my other Valentine's Day story (Chocolates), and is technically in the same universe as my other aromantic Natori story (Truth), but can be read independently of either.

# # # Contentment # # #

Somewhere a cell phone rings, melody obnoxiously familiar.

Natori Shuuichi reluctantly pokes his head out of his covers, blearily looking in the general direction of his bedside table. The sun cheerfully shines through his window from a height he's fairly certain it should _not_ have reached yet as he sits up just far enough to reach out, pick his phone up, accept the call, and put it on speakerphone.

He collapses back horizontal and says "Hello?" in a voice that sounds nothing at all like he's been awake for roughly a minute and counting.

He hopes.

"Natori-_san_?"

"Takahashi-_san_." Shuuichi blinks at the off-white ceiling, trying to convince his still-drowsy brain to clue him in to whether he'd just slept through some important event. Given that his publicist sounds more stressed than disappointed, he hazards a guess at 'no'. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"_Please_." And _that_ was definitely stress, on the fast track to desperation. "I know it's incredibly short notice, but I've got two people out sick and one out of town, and – well, if you think about it, this is an excellent chance to reconnect with your fan base –"

"Takahashi-_san_. Context please," Shuuichi says, reluctantly sitting up and stifling a yawn. He doubts he'll be getting any more sleep.

"There's a special Valentine's Day signing event in Ueda. _Please _say you'll come."

Ah. Right.

"I have plans," Shuuichi says.

"Natori-_san_!" Now his publicist sounds appalled. "I _told_ you, you have to keep me updated with these sorts of things. Secrets are bound to get out no matter how good you think you are at keeping them, so you need to keep me in the loop so I can make sure –"

Shuuichi pinches the bridge of his nose, swallows a sigh, and says, "I _do not_ have some sort of secret assignation planned."

_And you would be surprised,_ he thinks, darkly edged, _how well I can keep secrets._

But this is not the conversation for those sorts of thoughts.

"Good. All right. Good. Are you _sure_ your plans can't be rescheduled? Because I am _desperate_, I know you're not fond of the larger group events, but I don't know who else I can call –"

Shuuichi considers the supplies waiting in his kitchen.

He considers Takahashi-_san_, who's far better at his job than he sometimes sounds, and the intangible benefits that come from being seen as a team player.

"Fine," he says grudgingly. "Where and when?"

"Thank you _so much_." He names a venue that Shuuichi has been to a couple of times; it's within easy walking distance of a train station and he's pretty sure he remembers the way. "Can you make it there by one?"

Shuuichi picks up his phone and examines the time. Preparation, breakfast, travel time –

"I'll be there," he says.

… It's not like what he'd been planning had been _that_ important.

#

Shuuichi misses his train by a narrow enough margin that he's tempted to jump as it pulls away from the station. He's not fond of _that_ sort of attention, though, so he refrains, contenting himself with wishing that the trains occasionally ran a _little _bit less on time.

He compounds this error by making several costly wrong turns after arriving in Ueda, and finally arrives at the venue … well, _almost_ on time. Takahashi-_san _looks disturbingly glad to see him, and it's not hard to see why.

His publicist hadn't mentioned that the only other actor still coming was a young man even newer to the business than Shuuichi, with only a single, somewhat popular drama to his name.

Or that the event was three hours long.

Or that the room was _packed_. Already.

He hadn't mentioned that many of the women attending had brought along Valentines chocolates, either, but Shuuichi had easily predicted that much. There was a reason he'd brought the smaller of his duffels, temporarily divested of the exorcism supplies that normally made their home there, after all.

#

"I _love_ your latest single, _Flare_," the woman at the front of the line says, about an hour in. She looks at least five years older than him, wears a crisply professional pantsuit and clutches a stack of three CDs in unsteady hands. "Those lyrics, about staring up at the stars and wondering if your life is going in the right direction – they just really affected me, you know? I found it really inspiring. I – sorry," she breaks off, belatedly aware of the growing discontent in the line behind her. "Would you sign these, please?"

Shuuichi grants her a warm smile, and an "I'd love to. To whom should I address them?" as he takes the CDs from her: all three singles he's released so far. His manager is starting to make offhand comments about "best-of" collections, despite the fact that there's only seven songs across the three of them, none of which has come even close to breakout popularity.

He doesn't mention that the song had come to him in bits and pieces across months of late nights, researching _youkai_, reading through scripts. One night, sleep-deprived on top of everything else, he had almost started quoting lines from his most recent drama instead of the proper incantation to seal the _youkai_ he'd been chasing. He suppresses a wince, even just remembering.

Insofar as he knows what the truth is – which he sometimes doubts – he tries to put a little bit of it into everything he does. _Flare,_ in particular, sometimes feels a little bit _too_ true, but it was for moments like these that he'd spent the time to build it from a bunch of half-coherent snippets into something real.

He sometimes wonders how long he'll be able to keep doing this. But he has always clung too tightly to both his jobs to be willing to let either of them go.

"To Kikue –" he scrawls, staying just this side of legible, "keep burning brightly." He signs his name with a flourish, the movement familiar enough by now that he could do it in his sleep, and hands the CDs back to the woman, who blushes brightly and retreats.

He turns his attention towards the next in line, a group of three girls – in middle school, he guesses – who jostle each other in good-natured excitement. His smile sparkles.

#

Three hours, of course, never _actually_ means three hours.

There's a final rush of people just before four; as the last few minutes tick away Takahashi-_san _shoots him a pleading look. Shuuichi does not roll his eyes; instead he raises his voice to cheerfully reassure the crowd that he'd be happy to stay a few minutes longer, don't worry, everyone will still get their turn. Suzuki-_san_, sitting at his side, looks exhausted, but does an admirable job of pulling himself together enough to reiterate Shuuichi's reassurances to the smaller crowd still grouped around him.

Time passes, the crowd drains, Takahashi-_san_ kept occupied by politely turning away anyone new who wanders by. When only two people remain, taking advantage of their status as last to vie for Shuuichi's attention in progressively more transparent ways, he shoots Takahashi-_san_ a pointed look of his own, and his publicist appears at his side to gently direct them on their way.

The hall finally empty, Suzuki-_san_ lets his head fall forward onto his arms. Shuuichi is tempted to do the same, but instead forces himself to stand, stretch, and call to Takashashi-_san_, as he's locking the doors, "Do you need any help with the cleanup?"

"It's fine, I couldn't possibly ask –" his publicist says, before caving to Shuuichi's raised eyebrow. "Would you?"

Shuuichi folds his chair and leans it against the wall, and starts trying to organize the mess of Valentines chocolates in his duffel bag to make room for the ones still on the table. Soon, Suzuki-_san_ scrambles to do the same. "That was –" he says, pausing to run a hand through his hair, clearly searching for the right word. "Intense."

Shuuichi smiles, remembering his first signing. It had been about half this length, and the only reason he hadn't gone straight home and collapsed afterwards is that Sasago had interrupted him on his way home with news that one of the _youkai_ he'd been tracking had been sighted nearby.

After _that_, even bloody-minded stubbornness almost hadn't been enough to get him home before he collapsed.

"You did well," he says. "Would you like some of my chocolates?" He's regretting not bringing a larger bag, though even what he's already packed away will last him a ridiculously long while. Perhaps he'll bring some in and share it around the set on Monday.

"Oh, no, that's fine," Suzuki-_san_ says a bit too hastily. "Would you like some of mine? My girlfriend said she was planning on making me something special for tonight." Blushing, he looks even younger, and Shuuichi is tempted to revise his estimate of the gap between their ages.

"Then what are you doing still hanging around here?" he asks. "Takahashi-_san_ and I can handle the rest of the cleanup. I'm sure he'd be happy to take your extra chocolate, too."

"I don't even like the taste!" the man calls from halfway inside the supply closet.

"Your wife and daughter do, though, don't they?" Shuuichi calls back, satisfied by this small revenge. He's only met Rin once, and found her to be tiny and breakable and cute in the way of small humans. Junko, Takahashi-_san_'s wife, is calm, clearly used to dealing with Takahashi-_san_ when he gets worked up, and wonderfully unimpressed by the celebrities he works with.

Takahashi-_san_ extracts himself long enough to glare in Shuuichi's direction. "Do _not_ give my little Rin chocolate. Do you want me to actually get any _sleep_? _Ever_?"

Shuuichi smiles blandly back.

"I'll, um, just take them home," Suzuki-_san_ says, looking from one to the other. Shuuichi tosses his now-empty water bottle into the nearest recycling bin – _youkai_-sharpened reflexes can come in surprising handy occasionally – and starts breaking down the table.

"Um. Natori-_san_?"

Shuuichi looks up, and Suzuki-_san_ fidgets, starting to blush again. "Yes?"

"I really admire all the work you've done so far," he says in a rush, "and I was wondering if you have any advice? And, um," he winces, and pulls a DVD box set of all things out from behind his back: _A Thousand Roses_, Shuuichi's third drama, and the one that had rocketed him to his current level of fame. "… I know the signing is over, but …"

Shuuichi flexes his hand theatrically, rolls his wrist, and says, "I suppose I have room in here for one more." He uses the short time he spends writing to think – he's never been good at advice, never seen himself as a good role model for _anyone_ to follow, really – and says, as he hands back the box set, "Follow your passion, and don't lose sight of who you are and what you need. From what I saw today," he inclines his head towards Suzuki-_san_'s haphazardly stacked chocolates, nowhere near as large as Shuuichi's pile but respectable nonetheless, "I suspect you'll do just fine."

It's generic and wholly inadequate but Suzuki-_san_ smiles like he's been given a gift. Shuuichi turns away. "Takahashi-_san_, where should I put the table?"

#

The sun is beginning to set as Shuuichi walks back towards the train station, casting elongated shadows across his path. After an afternoon of noise, the relative silence is a bit disconcerting; it's a quiet street, in a quiet neighborhood, so even the roar of cars is infrequent. It seems he needn't have worn his hat after all, but the coat is a welcome extra layer against the biting February winds.

At the station, he waits for the train, thinking of nothing in particular. Fragments of memory of the afternoon flare and dissipate: compliments, impassioned gratitude. Reminders why he continues doing this, even now, when his reputation in the exorcist world is well-enough developed that he could probably live off income from those jobs alone.

When the train finally comes, it's mostly empty. Shuuichi is about to just collapse into the nearest seat when a loud whisper catches his attention.

"Hey. Hey. Hey, look at me. Hey, why are you ignoring me?"

Eyebrows raised, he follows the whisper to the other half of the car.

He _looms_, fingers touching and drawing out the barest hint of the chain of paper dolls that he rarely goes anywhere without, and when he says, politely but with an edge of steel, ostensibly to the young man in front of him, "Do you mind if I join you?" they all know who he's _really_ talking to.

The _youkai_ – small, mischievous but not appearing particularly malicious, not worth the effort to exorcise even had circumstances been different – squeaks and flees. Natsume appears momentarily torn between relief and irritation, before politeness wins out. "Of course."

Shuuichi settles a polite distance away, sprawling a bit to take advantage of the nearly-empty car, in deliberate contrast to Natsume's careful conservation of space. He glances at the tall, narrow bag on the floor in front of Natsume, dwarfing his school bag. "Shopping trip?"

Natsume nods. "Touko-_san_ asked me to pick something up for her on the way home." He glances out the window. "I hadn't expected it to take quite this long." He glances up at Shuuichi then, eyes sliding to the duffel bag at his feet, wary. "Are you on the way … somewhere?"

Shuuichi laughs, although it's not an unfair conclusion to reach, and says, "No, no, just in the mood for a peaceful return trip." He unzips the duffle bag and grabs a random box of chocolates off the top, offering it to Natsume. "Want some? I've got enough to last me the year."

"Um. Sure?" Natsume says, carefully opening the package and, after close perusal, selecting one of the smallest pieces. He looks down at the bag. "What …?"

"I'm on my way home from a signing," Shuuichi explains, amused at Natsume's confusion. "I suspected something of the sort might occur, so I came prepared." He takes a piece for himself as well and tucks the package back into the bag.

"Would you like some of mine?" Natsume asks in return, retrieving a slightly crumpled plastic bag from his school bag and pulling off the ribbon tying it closed. "Taki gave them to me, they're really good."

Shuuichi accepts, taking a piece that, like the others, is blended milk and white chocolate in a shape suspiciously reminiscent of a certain _youkai_ of their mutual acquaintance. It's quite good, and quite clearly handmade, and he can feel his grin widening. "Taki , hmmm?"

Natsume flushes brightly, looking like he's regretting saying anything. "She's just a friend."

"Mmm-hmm."

"She gave some to Tanuma, too."

"Mmm-hmm."

"She – you're _impossible_."

Shuuichi laughs. "And you are _entirely_ too much fun to tease."

Natsume glares.

"So will I ever get to meet this Taki of yours, she of the delicious homemade chocolates?"

"Not if you keep behaving like that," Natsume replies instantly, scowling. Is there some extra meaning behind his words? Is she involved in another of those secrets he can't trust Shuuichi enough to share? Or is it simply that after his friend Tanuma's experience in Omibashira's mansion, Natsume fears more than ever allowing the separate halves of his life to meet?

Either way, it's too nice a day to waste pressing his young friend, so Shuuichi simply smiles his most obnoxiously glittering smile – Natsume scowls harder – and replies, "Why, I have no idea what you mean."

#

Twilight has almost finished transitioning to true darkness by the time Shuuichi arrives home. He toes off his shoes in the entrance hall, flips on the lights, drops the duffel bag next to the couch, and walks to the kitchen.

The double boiler sits on the stove, neon green plastic molds stacked on the countertop just beside it. His knives are in their block, the chocolate still in the pantry, and he just … can't be bothered.

He compromises: he pulls the chocolate out of the pantry and breaks off a couple of pieces, pulling a saucer from the cabinet to set them on. Some additional thought, and he reheats some real food, too. Lunch – a bento bought from the train station on his way down to Ueda – had been small and a long time ago.

Finally, he settles back onto the couch, food and chocolate in tow, and finds himself content.

"Were you not planning to heat that chocolate, and mold it into a different shape?" Hiiragi asks, circling the couch and turning her mask towards the saucer.

"I was," Shuuichi agrees lazily. "But the events of the day got away from me. Perhaps tomorrow."

She looks towards the duffel bag, contents clearly displayed. "Is this not a day usually celebrated by women giving chocolates to the men to whom they are romantically attached?"

"It is," Shuuichi confirms. "Sometimes also to friends, family, coworkers, people they particularly admire."

"I see." She looks back towards the saucer. "Then –"

"I hadn't planned for – that," he gestures towards the duffel bag. "And since I neither have nor desire romantic attachments, but _do_ like chocolate, it seemed a reasonable course of action."

Were he in a dramatic mood, he might say something about learning to do a better job of loving himself. But there are some things he tries to avoid examining too closely, lest he realize they are truer than he would prefer to acknowledge.

Last year, he'd made the chocolates on a whim – out of curiosity more than anything else – and quite enjoyed it. There was something soothing about stirring the chocolate as it heated, something satisfying about seeing and tasting the results of his efforts.

He'd thought to make it an annual tradition, but looking back on the day, he can't bring himself to regret making the decisions he had. Interacting with his fans, spending time with his friend …

He smiles, and pops a piece of the chocolate into his mouth. He can't think of a better Valentine's gift than a day like this.


End file.
